


Old Bones

by CJtheWeeb



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, M/M, Mild Language, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJtheWeeb/pseuds/CJtheWeeb
Summary: Sometimes Stephen Strange has great days, where he was nearly pain free and his hands still enough to where he could pick up a cup of water and barely spill a drop.Today was not one of those days.





	Old Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrangerInAStrangeLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/gifts).



> Prompt by MadokaFan1234: I am SOFT for any and all Stephen whump.
> 
> You brought this suffering upon yourself.

Sometimes Stephen Strange has great days, where he was nearly pain free and his hands still enough to where he could pick up a cup of water and barely spill a drop.

Today was not one of those days. 

Stephen was fairly sure a cold front was moving in, judging by the aching deep in his bones. Old wounds from battles that never even existed protested his every movement. Pain licked down his spine as he tried to straighten out the curve that he held for hours whilst pouring over countless ancient texts. The Cloak flew to support him as one of his knees nearly gave out in the hallway of the Sanctum, but Stephen batted it away irritably. His ribs objected with a stabbing pain when he breathed a little too deeply, damaged from countless punches and knives and magics and god knew what else. He was quite sure the ache behind his eyes was going to become a full-blown headache before long.

But, of course, the worst pain was in Stephen’s hands. 

Old metal pins pressed against the delicate skin of his fingers, misshapen and ugly. The scar tissue stood out like needlework- really, really bad needlework- across the surface of his shaking appendages. They were swollen and cramping, enough so that Stephen could scarcely extend them to any meaningful extent. A fist was out of the question. 

God Stephen felt tired, right down to his very soul. Tired and hurting. He doubted even the astral plane could save him from the nagging of his every muscle and bone. 

\-----

The bitter sorcerer sat stooped on the edge of his bed, staring down the steaming teacup sitting delicately before him. The soothing scent of lemongrass wafted over him, and Stephen longed for a hearty swig of the drink. His gaze fell to his distended, puffy hands, fingers twitching gently under his watchful eyes. 

“Stop it.” Blue eyes raised to lock with the red of the Cloak, which had drifted over and started to lift the teacup to hand to Stephen. He glowered at the artifact until it bashfully set the cup back down and floated off to the edge of the room, collar tilted down in disappointment. 

Stephen knew the Cloak simply wanted to help out, knew he should apologize, but he just pursed his lips as his gaze wandered back to the cup. It would be effortless to simply levitate the tea over to him, but pride held him back. He was not some...some _invalid _. He didn’t need magic or silly floating clothing to have a single drink of tea.__

____

Slowly, he raised his hands and reached out towards the cup, sighing as they came in contact with the enveloping warmth of the porcelain. Gently, Stephen began to lift the cup and bring it towards himself, mouth watering at the thought of a nice warm cuppa to soothe his soul. Suddenly, his fingers spasmed painfully and the cup slipped from his fingers. Stephen’s heart dropped as he watched the shattered pieces skid across the floor, tea splashing across the floor before sinking into the boards.

The Cloak instantly flew over, attempting to wrap around him with one edge and collect the gleaming shards of porcelain with the other. Furiously, Stephen shoved at the cloak in an unsuccessful attempt to push it away. “Get off of me damnit, _I don’t need your fucking help! _” he cried. The Cloak instantly pulled back, as if in shock, before zipping around the door and out of sight of the enraged sorcerer.__

____

Stephen’s eyes gleamed in rage as he watched it go before shifting to the mess on the floor. He reached out to the nearest fragment of broken teacup, only to jerk away as he felt it slice through the fragile skin of his palm. He cursed bitterly as he ripped at the hem of his robes, pulling away a long scrap of fabric to wrap around the bleeding wound. Stephen stared as blood seeped through the blue fabric, tiny droplets escaping to the floor where they mixed with the spilt tea. 

At least the stinging of his palm made the rest of his aching body seem a little less painful. _Just another scar _, Stephen thought bitterly, scarcely noticing the hot tears welling in his eyes. _It’ll fit right in. _____

_____ _

_____ _

The Sorcerer Supreme, greatest wielder of magic and protector of the earth, slumped over onto his bed and sobbed.

\-----

Tony found himself rather confused upon entering the Sanctum Sanctorum. The door swung wide open for him as usual, and the candles immediately lit themselves as he stepped inside. But something was off; the air seemed heavier than usual, the shadows in the room just a little darker, the looming window that much more ominous. It was as if the building itself was alive and watching him with sullen eyes. As a matter of fact, it probably was. 

“Stephen?” Tony called out, wandering over to the stairs that groaned under his every step. There was no response. Tony felt something twinge in his heart as a kind of nervousness overtook him, hastening his steps as he came upon the second floor and moved towards Stephen’s room. It didn’t really matter which way he turned in the Sanctum, it always took him exactly where he wanted to go, but Tony still felt as if the halls were suddenly as labyrinthine as they were suffocating. They seemed much longer than usual, stretching as far as the eye could see into the gloomy haze of poor candlelight, with countless corridors twisting off in all directions.

With each twist and turn, Tony found himself becoming more and more agitated. He just wanted to find Stephen, to make sure he was okay, and the goddamn _walls _were deciding to fuck with him!?__

____

____

_And I have definitely seen this ugly-ass statue about SEVEN TIMES NOW! ___

____

____

Irritably, Tony called out, “Hey, I know you’re really proud of your fancy magic tricks but can you maybe stop being such a prick and let me see my boyfriend now? Pretty please?”

The walls shuddered and creaked, the dim light bending as shadows stirred at the edges of Tony’s vision. It struck him that maybe insulting the sentient building he was currently trapped within the bowels of was _not _the wisest idea he’d ever had.__

____

____

And he’d once thought goading a terrorist with his home address was a brilliant plan.

Tony took off in a sprint as the hallway started to collapse in around him, wood snapping and tumbling as the world seemed to twist around him. It was like being trapped inside of a kaleidoscope, only the kaleidoscope was made out of a super-pissed house that wanted to murder him. The floor shifted out from under him and he fell onto what had previously been the ceiling, grunting in pain as he tried to roll with the movement. A gauntlet formed reflexively over his hand, and he blasted the shifting walls. The repulsor bounced off the walls, ricocheting around Tony like a balloon losing air before burning out. 

“FUCK YOU TOO!” Tony cried, slamming against the shifting wood as the entire corridor rippled in anger. 

Abruptly, the walls moved as if to swallow him, and Tony shut his eyes as he cried out for somebody, _anybody _, to help him.__

____

____

The air seemed to still. Cautiously, Tony blinked his eyes open and dropped his arms from where they had been covering his head. Sitting up, he was greeted with the sight of what appeared to be an incredibly pleased Cloak ruffling its collar in greeting. He leaned to the left to peer down the hallway, which seemed as normal as a magical building that had just tried to murder him could be. His gaze drifted back up to the Cloak as it wrapped its velvety edges around his arms to lift him off the floor. 

“What...the actual fuck...was that?” Tony panted, patting the Cloak once he was able to get his footing. 

The Cloak shuddered nervously and gestured its collar to a small, darkened corridor a few feet away. Gently wrapping its lower half around Tony’s outstretched arm, it tugged him along towards the unassuming hallway and into the gloom. Barely able to see, Tony simply watched his feet and trusted the Cloak to guide him to its master.  
A sliver of light crossed Tony’s shoes as the Cloak drifted to a halt. Looking up, Tony realized they were in front of Stephen’s bedroom door, or at least a very strange version of it. The wood appeared ancient and uncared for, entire sections starting to peel away. The usual sheen of varnish was long gone, making the door appear a rather dull grey instead of its normal warm brown. The brass handle was rusted and misshapen, as if someone had taken a baseball bat to it. 

Tony shared a nervous look with the Cloak- well, what he assumed was a look- before hesitantly reaching for the door. Something was very wrong, and a single creepy door was not about to stop him from reaching his Stephen. Other Stephen’s, maybe, but not his.

The door swung open with a drawn out _creaaaaak _, and Tony blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.__

____

____

What he saw made him gasp and his heart skip a beat. 

\-----

At first glance Stephen’s room appeared normal. Well, as normal as a sorcerers room in a mystical house which had just attempted murder could be. 

But as Tony gingerly stepped in to the room, the Cloak clutching his shoulders, he felt a sense of dread settle into the pit of his stomach as he looked around. Glittering white shards of what looked to be the remains of Stephen’s favorite teacup littered the floor, their razor sharp edges glinting menacingly. The scent of stale tea and copper filled the air, which Tony assumed was from the ugly mixture of pale liquid and red washed across the floorboards. He tried not to dwell on where, or rather from whom, the red stain had come from. His eyes drifted to the bed and landed upon a blue lump. 

A blue lump that was speciously Stephen shaped. 

Tony padded lightly around the mess on the floor, mindful to avoid any stray shrapnel from the decimated cup, before reaching the foot of the bed. Stephen was laying there, curled into the fetal position, dangerously still and entirely unresponsive. His skin was beyond pale; it was completely washed out, enough so that Tony could trace the purple and blue veins that ran beneath. His hands were clenched against his chest and where it not for their wild shaking Tony may have thought Stephen dead. Though that did little to sooth the fear in Tony’s heart. 

“Stephen?” Tony asked softly, trying to get the sorcerers attention. No response. Tony placed his hands on the bed and leaned closer. “Stephen, talk to me babe,” he hissed, a little louder. He saw the muscles in Stephen’s neck tighten, bulging out like ropes, but he still made no move to respond. 

“Stephen, sweetie, light of my life, Dumbledore to my Harry Potter, I need you to talk to me,” Tony tried again, crawling up along the left side of the bed as he did so. “Are you okay? What happened in here? And why did the hallway try to ki-”

“SHUT UP FOR FUCKS SAKE,” Stephen roared, bolting upright in his bed and launching at Tony. His hands wrapped into Tony’s shirt, lurching him forwards so he had no choice but to stare into the icelike eyes before him. Tony had never seen such a look of rage and disgust on the sorcerer before, and it scared the shit out of him. 

“JUST SHUT UP, FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE, JUST BE QUIET AND LEAVE ME ALONE,” Stephen screamed directly into Tony’s stunned face before shoving him roughly back. Tony hit the mattress and stared at the ceiling in shock for a moment. He had never, _never _been talked to like that by Stephen before. He was… _livid _. It reminded him a little of his fath-____

_____ _

_____ _

_Stop that thought before it starts. ___

____

____

Struggling to sit up to bolt for the door before the tears and anger started, Tony halted when he noticed the warm wetness of his shirt. He ran his fingers across the damp fabric, and the fury faded away when they came back scarlet. His gaze returned to Stephen, who was cowering on his haunches like a wounded animal, eyes wild and face deathly white. 

“By...by the Vishanti Tony, I am so sorry. I didn’t, I-I never…” he stuttered uselessly, before his entire body shook with an ugly sob. Stephen drew in on himself further, nearly balled up as cries so guttural it sounded like they came from his very soul started to wrack through his frail body. His head fell between his arms in shame, trying to hide the tears from Tony. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, I _don’t _want to you to see me like this,” he wailed out, “You’re not su-not supposed to be here, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want…” Stephen trailed off has another another violent shudder shook his entire frame.__

____

____

“Shhhh, shhhh baby it’s okay, I’m here,” Tony cooed as he cautiously crawled back towards Stephen. He wasn’t sure what to do, what might cause the sobbing man to lash out again, but Tony needed to touch him. Needed to make sure he was okay. Needed to figure out where all that blood was coming from. 

“Stephen, sweetie, I’m going to touch your shoulder now. Is that okay?” Tony asked gently. Stephen’s only response was another ragged noise, so Tony carefully extended his hand and placed it as softly as he could manage upon a bony shoulder. _God _, Tony thought, _he feels even skinnier than usual.___

_____ _

_____ _

When Stephen made no move to escape, Tony started to gingerly maneuver around the shaking man. It was painfully slow going, especially for someone like Tony who needed instant gratification, but for Stephen he would do anything. By his estimate it took nearly five minutes just to get his arms around the sorcerer to hold him properly, but finally he felt Stephen relax into him, turning his face to sob wetly against his chest. Tony just smoothed his hand over Stephen’s hair, petting him gently and murmuring, “I got you sweetie don’t worry. I’m here, you’re gonna be okay now.”

Tony gave him a few more minutes to cry before he delicately wrapped his hand around Stephen’s wrists. Softly, Tony breathed, “I’m not gonna hurt you babe, just need to make sure you’re okay. Can you let me do that for you?” He could sense Stephen’s hesitation, and for a brief moment he feared the man would pull away. But Stephen just nodded mutely, still shivering against Tony’s torso. 

As tenderly as he could, Tony turned over Stephen’s hands. They shook violently, far worse than usual, and seemed swollen to an uncomfortable extent. Tony made a mental note to grab some more heat rub to put on them later. For now, though, his gaze focused in on Stephen’s left palm, which was wrapped in a rather shoddy bandage that looked to be a torn-off section of his robes. The thing was, for lack of a better word, filthy with blood. The blue was completely soaked through with crimson, and it had long since run in rivulets across Stephen’s hand. It was caked under his stubby fingernails, trapped in the creases of his palm, vividly highlighting every scar and ancient suture that ran across the skin there. 

Tony fought back the nausea as his stomach did a slow roll, and carefully started to unwrap the bandage. He felt it tug against the wound where blood had dried, and firmly held on to Stephen’s wrist when he made to pull away. “Stephen,” Tony whispered, “do you trust me?”

Oh so slowly, Stephen raised his head to stare up at Tony. His usually clear cerulean eyes were hazy and rimmed in red, eyelids puffy and face tracked with tears. The circles under his eyes were like bruises, so deep purple they were nearly black. His normally pristinely kempt hair fell into his eyes, and he still shuddered slightly despite the sobs having finally quieted down. He looked ashamed. Distraught. Terrified.

“...of course,” he rasped.

Tony’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he ran a hand through Stephen’s hair again, pushing it back from his face, before turning his attention back to the bloody hand in his lap. He tugged at it, figuring the ‘ripping-off-a-bandaid’ approach was the best thing to do. Stephen winced as it peeled away but made no attempt to move, instead resting his head back into the crook of his elbow as he watched Tony work.

Tony, for his part, was greatly displeased by what he found beneath the bandage. The cut was deep, blood still sluggishly welling up from the wound and trickling down into Stephen’s palm. It was bad enough that, had he looked a little further, Tony feared he would see the white of bone gleaming back at him. 

It took only a moment for Tony to decide on what to do. He was, after all, a man of action.  
“I will be right back sweetie, I promise. Don’t move okay?” Tony asked Stephen as he started to slide off the bed. “Hold your hand above your heart for just second.” Stephen did as he was told, gripping his wrist and raising it up as Tony dodged around the devastation on the floor to get to the bathroom. He ran a washcloth under warm water, snatched some clean bandages from inside the cupboard under the sink, and trotted back to a waiting Stephen. 

Sideling on up next to Stephen again, Tony gave three quick taps to the nano-housing unit on his chest, and cupped his hand to catch the little dispenser that it spat out in seconds. He set it aside and extended his hand to Stephen, who promptly presented his wounded hand. With all the grace and gentleness he could muster, Tony set about cleaning the gash across Stephen’s palm, wiping away congealed blood and blue fibers that stuck to his skin. He slowly worked his way out across the scarred extremity, taking care to scrub under Stephen’s nails when he reached them. When Tony finally managed to get the hand as clean as he could manage, he reached out and snagged the small nano-dispenser off of the bedsheets. 

Looking up into Stephen’s watchful eyes, Tony said, “This is only gonna sting for a second, alright? Then we can get you a nice warm bath and you _will not _stick your hand in the water or I will restrain you with utmost prejudice. And believe me, that’s not the fun kind.”__

____

____

Stephen attempted a weak chuckle, which sounded more like a sad wheeze, before grimacing as the nanobots were sprayed into his wound. He could feel them working to seal the wound and heal the tissue beneath, moving around systematically before settling down into the world's most high-tech suture. Tony waited for them to arrange themselves before he set the cotton in place before unwinding the gauze and methodically wrapping Stephen’s hand. Stephen tried not to flinch as he watch Tony do so, his hand looking painfully reminiscent of those days spent in the hospital after the accident. 

Finally, Tony leaned back, gazing at his work with a satisfied eye before focusing back on Stephen’s haggard face. “So,” he began, “here’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Tony-”

“Don’t _‘Tony’ _me, Stephen. I am going to take care of you whether you like it or not,” Tony stated firmly. He wrapped his warm hands around Stephen’s cold, trembling ones. “You have seen me through some of the worst days of my life, held me when I cried like a baby from nightmares, supported me every time I slipped back into bad habits.” Tony’s expression went somber for a moment, silent as they both remembered the ugly and uphill battle that had been Tony’s alcoholism. With a sigh and a subtle shake of his head, Tony continued, “So I don’t care if you don’t want my help, and I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Because you are stubborn and pigheaded and so _damn prideful _but I am going to take care of you like you take care of me. You want to know why, Stephen?”____

_____ _

_____ _

Stephen swallowed hard and stared back into Tony’s warm, whisky eyes. God he had the prettiest eyes.

“Because I love you, dumbass.”

“Also your hallways tried to kill me so there’s no way I’m leaving now.”

\-----

Stephen felt awful. His joints hurt, his hands shook, his head was spinning with a migraine of monstrous proportions. His left palm stung angrily, unrelentingly so, and he clenched his fingers in spite of himself. His back kept trying to spasm as he lay on his side, forcing him to shift minutely every couple of minutes.

And yet…

The sheets were freshly changed, smelling of clean linen and fresh air. His sweaty robes had been exchanged for the softest pajamas he owned, shirt just a little too large and pants just a little too long. His hair was damp and smelled like lavender, and some of his persistent aches had quieted after a wonderfully warm bath. He felt satisfyingly full after some surprisingly delicious soup that Tony had produced from somewhere (probably delivery, Tony was an awful cook). The floor was clean of all debris, though the stain there was presenting something of a challenge. But that was for another day, when Stephen felt better and wasn’t being lulled to the cusp of sleep by the warm body behind him.

Tony had his arms wrapped securely around Stephen’s waist, holding him as tightly as he dared in his delicate condition. His face was nuzzled against the back of Stephen’s skull, breath wafting gently through his hair with each light snore. The man was like a walking furnace, radiating delicious heat that soothed the muscles in Stephen’s shoulders as he pressed closer still against the sorcerers spine. Stephen inhaled deeply and sighed, enjoying the scent of metal and machine oil and cologne that was so uniquely _Tony _. He ran his fingers gingerly over the velvety corner of the Cloak from where it lay across him, grinning slightly as it wrapped an edge around his finger.__

____

____

The world may be a painful, cruel place that held no end of languish for Doctor Stephen Strange. He may be stuck with the agony that each new day held for him, the shaking of his hands a constant reminder of his failures. He may never be able to feel the softness of a blanket with a touch of his fingertips, never map out the features of his love with reverent hands. He may be stuck for an eternity fighting for a thankless earth, a place that may be entirely doomed to fall in the end. As Tony would say, _the world sucks. It’s awful and cruel and it never gets better no matter how hard you try. We fight so hard and will still have to suffer for it._

_But let’s suffer together._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, this fic nearly killed me trying to write it so I had to make ya'll suffer too.
> 
> Just wanted to clarify that I head-cannon that the Sanctum is emotionally entwined with its master and reflects his state of mind, which is why it was pitching a nasty fit when Tony came in. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome.


End file.
